Post by katiemastin on Feb 2, 2017 21:39:51 GMT -5

Preface

In olden times, when there were sieves in straws and lies in everything, when men ate and drank the whole day and yet lay down hungry- in those olden, olden times, there was a Shah whose days were joyless because he was growing old, and his kingdom was in ruins.

So, the Shah left his kingdom and traveled for one hundred days and twice as many nights. Finally, he came the uttermost ends of the world, hard by the realm of demons, and there he came upon a single, great tree. Beside the tree, stood a small cottage, and beside the cottage, stood an old woman.

“What is thy errand here, my lord Shah?” asked the wise woman.

“If thou dost know that I am a Shah, thou dost also know my errand- I seek safety and prosperity for my kingdom,” replied the Shah.

“Alas, the thing that thou wouldst have, it is not in my power to give,” the old woman said. “Thou must seek the Ruby Knife. But beware,” she cautioned, “safety has a price and prosperity a cost. The Ruby Knife is a cunning blade.”

But the Shaw’s heart was consumed by a hidden fire, and he would not heed the wise woman’s words. He pursued his way over mountains and valleys, rising up and lying down again for many days until he reached the realm of demons.

In the midst of a vast plain, in front of the highroad, there stood a towering minaret. Its stones were larger than a horse, and its spire pierced the clouds. The Shah climbed up and up until his legs were no stronger than a newborn babe’s, and at last he reached the top. There, upon a table blacker than night, stood the ruby knife-its blade embedded in the stone table. The Shah rejoiced and pulled the knife free. Suddenly a voice as horrible as the Mother of Devils rang out around him, saying,

First, pull the knife from sheath of stone,

It will obey thy hand.

Then when the shadows gather thick,

Its sight thou shalt command.

Last, spill the blood of one whose faith

In men’s true strength is sure-

A land of endless peace shall rise

Or fall, and doubt endure.

The Shah trembled and fell upon his face until the voice was silent, and then he returned to his kingdom.

Thus time passed. The Shah’s life grew as long as a swan’s neck. Babes became old men and then naught but whispered memories on the lips of their descendants. The kingdom became known far and wide for its great wealth and peaceful cities, but a stranger might have wondered at the silent streets. Then one day, the old wise woman came and knocked on the door of the Shah’s palace.

“What is thy errand here, old witch?” asked the Shah.

“If thou dost know that I am a witch, thou dost also know my errand- I have come to take the Ruby Knife,” replied the wise woman.

“Nay,” answered the Shah. “I have paid for the Ruby Knife many times over. It shall not leave my kingdom.”

“Then thou shalt go instead,” said the wise woman.

And before the Shah could so much as blink, the wise woman whisked him away to an island in the middle of a cold, northern sea and left him there.

The Ruby Knife remained in the Shah’s palace, gleaming silently, until it was forgotten in the turning of many seasons and the passing of many, many years.

Chapter 1

Edwin glared up at the two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and mustache that barred his way.

“I come here every day, Mustafa.”

“You do indeed, Eh-dween,” the guard agreed.

“And yet, you’re still standing there,” Edwin panted. He was doubled over with his hands on his knees.

Mustafa crossed his arms and stared down his crooked nose at the boy facing him. “Badge, please,” he repeated flatly.

“You know who I am!” Edwin exploded. Then he took a deep breath. Yelling was getting him nowhere. “Look Mustafa, I forgot my badge at school,” he explained. “But I’ve got to get in right now. Dad sent me a really important text message.”

Edwin had sprinted the six blocks from school in less than fifteen minutes. A particularly impressive feat given that it was Friday afternoon. Fridays in Istanbul were always crazy: a mash-up of believers going to the mosque, foreign tourists arriving for their week of sightseeing, and Turkish teenagers revving up for a night out.

Mustafa’s mustache twitched, and Edwin thought he heard the ghost of a snort, but the guard remained solidly in front of the tiled doorway leading to the Great Library of the Topkapi Palace. “If you do not have badge from Turkish Ministry of Culture, you do not go into Library,” the muscled giant said.

With a growl, Edwin shrugged his backpack off his shoulder and rummaged inside for his battered phone. He scowled at Mustafa as he dialed the Library’s archaic landline number and wished his father had not lost his cell phone. Again.

There was no answer, and Edwin viciously pressed the hang up button.

Come on Dad, he thought. Not today. Not after that message.

Edwin scrolled through his phone book and found Altan, his father’s graduate research assistant.

Altan never picked up his phone, but like most younger Turks, he texted as if the glowing rectangle was a cyborg extension of his arm.

“Smile, Mustafa” Edwin said as he stood beside the guard and stretched out his hand. Click. An image flashed on the screen. Edwin looked at his own freckled face, twisted in an exasperated grimace, and frowned. His nose was long and slightly too pointy, and his thick, auburn hair swept lopsidedly away from his forehead. Edwin had always thought he looked rather unfortunately like a weasel. Mustafa’s huge head had not fit entirely in the frame, but Edwin was in too much of a hurry to try again. He pressed send, and under the picture he typed,

“Don’t have my badge. Can you tell Dad I’m waiting at the back entrance? Please hurry!!!!”

“Dad will- I mean, Professor Robertson will be down in a moment,” Edwin informed Mustafa pompously. The effect was lessened somewhat by the need to crane his neck to look the uniformed behemoth in the face. Edwin’s adam’s apple jutted belligerently towards the black mustache. Mustafa gave him a critical look, then reached out and put his meaty hand on the boy’s shoulder,

“You must- how do you say it? You must get life, Eh-dween,” the guard said in heavily accented English.

Edwin covered his face with his freckled hands and muttered, “I can’t deal with this today.”

Mustafa ignored him.

“Every day, you come here and read with the old men. Pffft,” the guard said with disgust. “Looking for fairy tales-”

“The Ruby Knife is not a fairy tale!” Edwin protested hotly.

“Okay, okay!” Mustafa held up a conciliatory hand and nodded towards the clear, autumn sky. “But today is a day for futbol, not books.” His eyebrows drew together like two hairy caterpillars in a race to his nose. “Or maybe it is sah-car you say in America?” he asked.

“I don’t play soccer,” Edwin said with a frown.

“Fine, so you chase the girls or something,” the guard insisted. “You’re young! If you smile nice, they do not even notice your chicken legs, I think.”

Edwin just groaned. This morning, in the middle of Turkish Lit class, Edwin had received a frantic text message from Altan’s phone.

“The ‘now’ part. Not the ‘something from your mother’ part. Come after school.”

His teacher had temporarily confiscated his phone just after Edwin had received the final text.

“And hurry!”

After six months, they had finally found a message from his mother. Edwin’s stomach felt like he had just eaten seven double bacon cheeseburgers. Well, seven plates of lamb kebabs, he mentally amended- double bacon cheeseburgers were hard to come by in Turkey. So he had hurried. As soon as the final bell had rung at the International School of Istanbul, he had sprinted through the front doors, nearly toppled a pomegranate juice vendor’s cart on Kabasakal street, broken and hastily paid for a ceramic teapot at the Grand Bazaar, and accidentally knocked over three Russian tourists taking pictures of the needle-sharp minarets of the Blue Mosque. And now his father was nowhere to be found.

Mustafa broke into Edwin’s thoughts with a bone-crushing slap on the back. “Maybe tomorrow you come home with me, Eh-dween,” he said cordially. “You are fifteen, yes? My brother’s daughter, she is very smart. You come to my house and you talk to her, ok?”

Edwin blushed to the tip of his long nose and said, “Wow. Thanks, but that’s alright, Mustafa.”

“What? You think she looks like her uncle?” the guard accused with a scowl. He loomed over Edwin.

“N- No!” Edwin stammered. “That doesn't matter at all! Not that I'm saying she does, or that would be a bad thing, I mean, I-”

Edwin was saved by the arrival of his father.

The heavy door to the Topkapi Library slammed into Mustafa’s back, and the disheveled professor spilled out on the steps.

“Mustafa! So sorry!” the professor gasped apologetically and began patting the pockets of his baggy kakis. “I have my badge somewhere, I know. Give me just a moment,” he muttered. Edwin reached out and tapped his father’s bulging shirt pocket pointedly. The professor looked up and blinked owlishly through his smudged, square glasses. “Hmm?”

“In there, Dad.”

“Why so it is!” Professor Robertson pulled out two pens, a wad of crumpled post-it notes, and a worn ID card. He beamed at Edwin and said proudly to Mustafa, “Clever boy, my son.”

The guard grunted noncommittally and pulled open the door.

“You found something from Mom?” Edwin asked eagerly as they stepped into the back passage that led to the Great Library.

The silent walkway was dusty and all but abandoned. Only parts of the enormous thirteenth century Topkapi Palace had been restored, leaving bits and pieces of forgotten history interspersed with squeaky-clean opulence. As they walked, tiny pieces of broken tile crunched under their shoes and skittered along the cracked, marble floors. On the other side of the wall, Edwin could hear tourists being guided through the old harem quarters. Their awed murmurings echoed faintly in the musty quiet.

“It’s a poem,” his father replied. His reedy voice was more excited than it had been in years. Edwin snorted and looked at his father out of the corner of his eye.

“Mom wrote a poem?” he asked incredulously. He tried to picture his mother- short and stocky, with her snapping blue eyes, cropped red hair and bouncing walk- sitting down to pen sappy verses. He failed.

Post by indiwood on Feb 2, 2017 23:13:19 GMT -5

Exciting!! Sounds like the beginning of a grand adventure! Comments below in red Most of my comments were on the beginning part--it's setting up the entire adventure, so I felt like it just needed a little more development. But I LOVED the modern-day part and laughed out loud several times. You've got some great characters, and I was really drawn in to see what had happened with Edwin's mother and the ruby knife! And I love that it's set in Turkey. Not a commonsetting. Nicely done!

In olden times, when there were sieves in straws and lies in everything, when men ate and drank the whole day and yet lay down hungry- in those olden, olden times, there was a Shah whose days were joyless because he was growing old, and his kingdom was in ruins. [I'm torn about this paragraph, because the beginning makes no sense. And I would almost say start it a little less cryptically, except that it made me stop and think and reread several times. And that could be a really good way to grab a reader.]

So, the Shah left his kingdom and traveled for one hundred days and twice as many nights.[Give a reason for him traveling. What is he looking for? Eternal life? A way to save his kingdom? Knowing his purpose will give the reader a better idea of what kind of man he was.] Finally, he came the uttermost ends of the world, hard by the realm of demons, and there he came upon a single, great tree. Beside the tree, stood a small cottage, and beside the cottage, stood an old woman.[Love the imagery here]

“What is thy errand here, my lord Shah?” asked the wise woman.

“If thou dost know["dost know" is really clunky, especially repeated--maybe just say "knowest" instead?] that I am a Shah, thou dost also know my errand- I seek safety and prosperity for my kingdom,” replied the Shah. [Again, maybe have a little more of the shah's emotions or desires. Is he really looking for the good of his kingdom? Or is he a little selfish? Even though he's only here for a short part of the story, the entire premise rests on his actions. I want to know more deeply who he was and why he did things.]

“Alas, the thing that thou wouldst have, it is not in my power to give,” the old woman said. “Thou must seek the Ruby Knife. But beware,” she cautioned, “safety has a price and prosperity a cost. The Ruby Knife is a cunning blade.”

But the Shaw’s heart was consumed by a hidden fire, and he would not heed the wise woman’s words. He pursued his way over mountains and valleys, rising up and lying down again for many days until he reached the realm of demons.

In the midst of a vast plain, in front of the highroad, there stood a towering minaret. Its stones were larger than a horse, and its spire pierced the clouds. The Shah climbed up and up until his legs were no stronger than a newborn babe’s, and at last he reached the top. There, upon a table blacker than night, stood the ruby knife-its blade embedded in the stone table. The Shah rejoiced and pulled the knife free. Suddenly a voice as horrible as the Mother of Devils rang out around him, saying,

First, pull the knife from sheath of stone,

It will obey thy hand.

Then when the shadows gather thick,

Its sight thou shalt command.

Last, spill the blood of one whose faith

In men’s true strength is sure-

A land of endless peace shall rise

Or fall, and doubt endure.

The Shah trembled and fell upon his face until the voice was silent, and then he returned to his kingdom. [Did he take the knife with him or leave it there? Not clear.]

Thus time passed. The Shah’s life grew as long as a swan’s neck[likeyour phrasing here]. Babes became old men and then naught but whispered memories on the lips of their descendants. The kingdom became known far and wide for its great wealth and peaceful cities, but a stranger might have wondered at the silent streets. Then one day, the old wise woman came and knocked on the door of the Shah’s palace.

“What is thy errand here, old witch?” asked the Shah.

“If thou dost know that I am a witch, thou dost also know my errand- I have come to take the Ruby Knife,” replied the wise woman.

“Nay,” answered the Shah. “I have paid for the Ruby Knife many times over. It shall not leave my kingdom.”

“Then thou shalt go instead,” said the wise woman.

And before the Shah could so much as blink, the wise woman whisked him away to an island in the middle of a cold, northern sea and left him there.

The Ruby Knife remained in the Shah’s palace, gleaming silently, until it was forgotten in the turning of many seasons and the passing of many, many years. [Did other people know about the knife? Did they know what it did? Was it on display? Hidden in a secret drawer?]

Chapter 1

Edwin glared up at the two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and mustache[heehee :)] that barred his way.

“I come here every day, Mustafa.”

“You do indeed, Eh-dween,” the guard agreed.

“And yet, you’re still standing there,” Edwin panted. He was doubled over with his hands on his knees.

Mustafa crossed his arms and stared down his crooked nose at the boy facing him. “Badge, please,” he repeated flatly.

“You know who I am!” Edwin exploded. Then he took a deep breath. Yelling was getting him nowhere. “Look Mustafa, I forgot my badge at school,” he explained. “But I’ve got to get in right now. Dad sent me a really important text message.”

Edwin had sprinted the six blocks from school in less than fifteen minutes. A particularly impressive feat given that it was Friday afternoon. Fridays in Istanbul were always crazy: a mash-up of believers going to the mosque, foreign tourists arriving for their week of sightseeing, and Turkish teenagers revving up for a night out.[oooooh! I like the setting!]

Mustafa’s mustache twitched, and Edwin thought he heard the ghost of a snort, but the guard remained solidly in front of the tiled doorway leading to the Great Library of the Topkapi Palace. “If you do not have badge from Turkish Ministry of Culture, you do not go into Library,” the muscled giant said.

With a growl, Edwin shrugged his backpack off his shoulder and rummaged inside for his battered phone. He scowled at Mustafa as he dialed the Library’s archaic landline number and wished his father had not lost his cell phone. Again.

There was no answer, and Edwin viciously pressed the hang up button.

Come on Dad, he thought. Not today. Not after that message.

Edwin scrolled through his phone book and found Altan, his father’s graduate research assistant.

Altan never picked up his phone, but like most younger Turks, he texted as if the glowing rectangle was a cyborg extension of his arm.

“Smile, Mustafa” Edwin said as he stood beside the guard and stretched out his hand. Click. An image flashed on the screen. Edwin looked at his own freckled face, twisted in an exasperated grimace, and frowned. His nose was long and slightly too pointy, and his thick, auburn hair swept lopsidedly away from his forehead. Edwin had always thought he looked rather unfortunately like a weasel. Mustafa’s huge head had not fit entirely in the frame, but Edwin was in too much of a hurry to try again. He pressed send, and under the picture he typed,

“Don’t have my badge. Can you tell Dad I’m waiting at the back entrance? Please hurry!!!!”

“Dad will- I mean, Professor Robertson will be down in a moment,” Edwin informed Mustafa pompously. The effect was lessened somewhat by the need to crane his neck to look the uniformed behemoth in the face. Edwin’s adam’s apple jutted belligerently towards the black mustache. Mustafa gave him a critical look, then reached out and put his meaty hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“You must- how do you say it? You must get life, Eh-dween,” the guard said in [heavily accented English.Don't need this, really. We already can tell he's got an accent.]

Edwin covered his face with his freckled hands and muttered, “I can’t deal with this today.”

Mustafa ignored him.

“Every day, you come here and read with the old men. Pffft,” the guard said with disgust. “Looking for fairy tales-”

“The Ruby Knife is not a fairy tale!” Edwin protested hotly.

“Okay, okay!” Mustafa held up a conciliatory hand and nodded towards the clear, autumn sky. “But today is a day for futbol, not books.” His eyebrows drew together like two hairy caterpillars in a race to his nose. “Or maybe it is sah-car you say in America?” he asked.

“I don’t play soccer,” Edwin said with a frown.

“Fine, so you chase the girls or something,” the guard insisted. “You’re young! If you smile nice, they do not even notice your chicken legs, I think.” [Bah ha! I like Mustafa.]

Edwin just groaned. This morning, in the middle of Turkish Lit class, Edwin had received a frantic text message from Altan’s phone.

His teacher had temporarily confiscated his phone just after Edwin had received the final text.

“And hurry!”

After six months, they had finally found a message from his mother.[nice way to bring in a mysterious missing mother!] Edwin’s stomach felt like he had just eaten seven double bacon cheeseburgers. Well, seven plates of lamb kebabs, he mentally amended- double bacon cheeseburgers were hard to come by in Turkey. So he had hurried. As soon as the final bell had rung at the International School of Istanbul, he had sprinted through the front doors, nearly toppled a pomegranate juice vendor’s cart on Kabasakal street, broken and hastily paid for a ceramic teapot at the Grand Bazaar, and accidentally knocked over three Russian tourists taking pictures of the needle-sharp minarets of the Blue Mosque. And now his father was nowhere to be found.

Mustafa broke into Edwin’s thoughts with a bone-crushing slap on the back. “Maybe tomorrow you come home with me, Eh-dween,” he said cordially. “You are fifteen, yes? My brother’s daughter, she is very smart. You come to my house and you talk to her, ok?”[Gah! Awkward matchmaking is always good, haha]

Edwin blushed to the tip of his long nose and said, “Wow. Thanks, but that’s alright, Mustafa.”

“What? You think she looks like her uncle?” the guard accused with a scowl. He loomed over Edwin.

“N- No!” Edwin stammered. “That doesn't matter at all! Not that I'm saying she does, or that would be a bad thing, I mean, I-”

Edwin was saved by the arrival of his father.

The heavy door to the Topkapi Library slammed into Mustafa’s back, and the disheveled professor spilled out on the steps.

“Mustafa! So sorry!” the professor gasped apologetically and began patting the pockets of his baggy khakis. “I have my badge somewhere, I know. Give me just a moment,” he muttered. Edwin reached out and tapped his father’s bulging shirt pocket pointedly. The professor looked up and blinked owlishly through his smudged, square glasses. “Hmm?”

“In there, Dad.”

“Why so it is!” Professor Robertson pulled out two pens, a wad of crumpled post-it notes, and a worn ID card. He beamed at Edwin and said proudly to Mustafa, “Clever boy, my son.”

The guard grunted noncommittally and pulled open the door.

“You found something from Mom?” Edwin asked eagerly as they stepped into the back passage that led to the Great Library.

The silent walkway was dusty and all but abandoned. Only parts of the enormous thirteenth century Topkapi Palace had been restored, leaving bits and pieces of forgotten history interspersed with squeaky-clean opulence.[I love this, because it's such a unique setting.] As they walked, tiny pieces of broken tile crunched under their shoes and skittered along the cracked, marble floors. On the other side of the wall, Edwin could hear tourists being guided through the old harem quarters. Their awed murmurings echoed faintly in the musty quiet.

“It’s a poem,” his father replied. His reedy voice was more excited than it had been in years. Edwin snorted and looked at his father out of the corner of his eye.

“Mom wrote a poem?” he asked incredulously. He tried to picture his mother- short and stocky, with her snapping blue eyes, cropped red hair and bouncing walk- sitting down to pen sappy verses. He failed. [Nice characterization of his mom!]

Post by faydra on Feb 2, 2017 23:41:22 GMT -5

Love the setting and I love the old fairytale that's true and relevant to the problem of the modern day.

A little concerned about a MC being 15--that's a YA age, so I'm curious why you're considering this MG.

Some language tweaking in the opening story:

sieves had straws--I had no idea what this image meant so I looked it up, but indeed there are modern straws with sieves, so while I like this image in a first sentence it trips me up and isn't necessarily olden

because he was growing old--you've already said olden, olden times, so... I'd change the second part of the line. Maybe something like ...joyless because he felt the ruin of the city around him in his aging bones. (or some such thing)

I really like the--If you know my name, you know my errand and then it's used again--love!

And finally--I think it might be stronger to simply end the last sentence on the word "forgotten"

***

Within the story I'd cut some adverbs that follow said--no need for hotly or cordially. We can pick up on that from the actual words.

Post by jesjul on Feb 2, 2017 23:59:16 GMT -5

I enjoyed reading this a lot though the opening did slow me down a little. I didn't understand a couple of sentences and in trying to figure them out I lost the flow of your writing. However once Edwin was introduced the story moved along well and was very interested - I'd have kept reading!

I'd also just edit out a few adverbs but I think it's a great start.

I did sort of feel like it was more YA then MG but I've only read these pages so I imagine you have a better sense of your work.

Post by Ninja Temptation on Feb 4, 2017 12:18:36 GMT -5

Oh, I really enjoyed this. An unusual setting and some great humour. I particularly like the fairytale, mythic style of the prologue as set against the contemporary style of the main story (and I'd keep '...in the turning of many seasons and the passing of many, many years' for that reason - it's part of the style and I think it serves a purpose). And I love the last couple of lines. Nicely done!